Rigour
by Write Here2
Summary: The murder of an upandcoming young model sparks off a media frenzy. With problems closer to home growing and New York in the grip of a crimeridden summer, how will the CSIs cope? ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER - Still not mine. Bother.

A/N - If any of you were reading 'Breaking Bonds', I'm afraid it's reached yet another impasse. I just don't see how I'm going to go forward with it. Anyway, I'm quite pleased with this new story - just hope you enjoy it! Please, please review. It really helps!!!

* * *

Lara Williams was as hauntingly beautiful in death as she had been in life. Her delicate features were spattered with blood. It had already turned a brownish-red colour. Flack cast his eye over her stick-thin model's frame. He tried to make sense of an industry that encouraged its stars to do such unnatural things to their bodies. Lara Williams, it was easy to see, was destined for greatness in such a business. Her long, thin body matched a striking face with sharp cheekbones.

The I.D. in the top left pocket of her jacket gave the model's age as eighteen. That meant she was nearing an age at which a breakthrough would become very difficult. Flack tried to remember if she had managed to get any significant jobs before her messy death. He caught the still-childlike cast to her face. Her age would have to be verified.

Flack rose to his feet, wincing at his creaking joints. He hadn't recovered from playing basketball the night before with a few of his cop buddies. Every muscle ached, The detective couldn't quash the faint, irrational worry that it might be an early sign of the arthritis that had plagued his grandfather. It didn't matter that the old man had been the only sufferer in the family. Logic didn't come into it.

"Getting old, huh?"

"Watch it, Messer." Flack said, rolling his eyes.

The CSI placed his kit strategically near the body. He leant his head to the side, trying to place the victim. "Lara Williams, right?"

"Yeah. Do I need to be worried about how you know that?"

Danny shrugged. "Lindsey glares at the screen every time that Chanel commercial comes on."

_Chanel! _Flack thought. _That's where I remember her from! _He cleared his throat, glad no one had heard that thought. "And that's got nothing to do with how much _you_ like that commercial."

"She's eighteen! I liked the older sister."

The detective laughed. "Whatever you say, Danny."

He muttered something Flack couldn't quite make out, and crouched down next to the body. Glancing it over, as the detective had done, he reached the same conclusions. One, there was no way this girl was eighteen. Two, her weight could not be healthy, fast metabolism or not. Three, it didn't look like any of her most obvious problems had caused her death. The left side of her skull had been caved-in. Splinters of bone were sticking up through her matted hair.

Looking at her hair, Danny was struck by another thought. Lara Williams' expensive cosmetics, designer clothes, and so on, could not hide the fact that she had been handed maturity far too early. In place of the awkward gangly teenager who had been spotted shopping in a South Dakota shopping mall, there was a young woman with silky hair and a perfect complexion.

"Anything happen with Monique?"

Flack swore under his breath. He had been hoping Danny might have forgotten. "Oh, her."

"'Oh, her'?" Danny mimicked.

"Disaster. She was boring, the food was bad - and cold - and I'm pretty sure she hit on the waiter."

Danny winced. "Ouch."

"I got pretty lucky. Did you hear about Hawkes?"

The former M.E. had been talking about his latest girlfriend for weeks. He had been besotted. When she had turned up at the lab to take him to dinner, everyone realized why. The woman was absolutely stunning. Unfortunately, her husband had turned up halfway through the meal. There had been quite a scene.

"Yeah, Hawkes called me." the CSI said absent-mindedly. "The guy called him, next day, to apologise. I don't think it's the first time she's done it."

Danny cleared his throat, and stretched his arms, trying to work out a few kinks. The CSI retrieved a few things from his kit. He started to examine the carpet around Lara Williams' body.

"How come it's just you?"

When the other man didn't answer, Flack stepped close. He leant over, and flicked him on the back of the head. Danny yelped, and whirled round.

"What?"

Flack rolled his eyes again. "How come its just you?"

Danny shrugged. "Hawkes is busy. Lindsey's busy. Stella's busy. New York decided to go crazy this week, I guess."

"What about Mac?"

"Buried under paperwork again."

"That's gonna make him real happy." Flack said.

Danny shrugged. He was just glad to be out in the field. The younger man did not envy his boss, stuck in the lab all day. With a keen eye, he spotted a short, golden-brown hair that didn't match Lara Williams' fiery red locks. Carefully, he picked it up, and slid the hair into a plain brown envelope. Danny sealed it shut against contamination. A smile inched across his face.

"What?"

He twisted round on his heels to face his friend. Flack was standing further away now, trying to appear nonchalant. Danny's smile widened into a grin. "Think I got something." He brandished the brown envelope. "Don't you have something useful to do?"

Flack hovered for a split second. He turned away, striding for the door. "Smartass." he muttered under his breath, on his way out of the lavish apartment.

* * *

Mac rubbed his forehead tiredly. He had been working on the stack of forms, files, reports and evaluations for three hours already, and people kept delivering more. He reminded himself that the situation was out-of-the-ordinary. The ex-Marine would never leave his job. He loved it too much. There were times though, when it sounded like a very good idea.

"Having fun?"

He looked up through bloodshot eyes. Stella was leaning against his office doorway. As always, she looked cool and calm. It was hard to believe right then that she had ever looked flustered.

"You finished?"

Stella shook her head. "Waiting on a few things. I'm on a break." She strode up to one of the visitors' chairs, and slumped into it. "So are you."

Mac caught sight of the large brown bag in her left hand. He found himself suddenly hungry. Stella grinned. She took out a foil-wrapped sandwich and a large cup of coffee. The female CSI placed them carefully on her friend's desk, before making herself comfortable again.

He offered her a rare, warm smile. "Thanks, Stella." Unwrapping it, his smile grew broader. It was chicken salad, on wheat bread.

"I knew you'd be too caught up in all this-" she waved a hand round, indicating the paperwork "-to remember about something stupid like lunch."

"I was going to get something from the machine." he said sheepishly.

Stella didn't bother to comment. They both already knew what she was going to say. Mac's morning had been bad enough. Her own was no picnic. The chief suspect in her murder case had been abroad when the victim had died. Francis Gerald didn't have the means to bribe anyone. Neither did he have the money or contacts to hire a hitman. Stella found herself feeling a little sorry for the nervous young guy.

Just then, Mac's phone went off, disturbing their easy, yet serious, silence. She watched as the conversation progressed.

"Hey Danny." There was a short pause. "Yes?" Mac's face darkened quickly. "You're sure?" Whatever the response was, it could not have been good. Mac bit back a few choice phrases. "OK. Let me know if you need anyone."

Stella couldn't stop herself. "What was that all about?"

Mac shook his head. "Danny has himself a celebrity victim." He looked Stella in the eye. "We're under the spotlight."

* * *

P.S. I know the name's a bit…er…lame…but I was stuck for one. Sorry. Blame my thesaurus. Or, to be more accurate, my computer's thesaurus. Bad thesaurus. 


	2. Chapter 2

-DISCLAIMER - Not owned by me, or I'd be really rich… Oooo…. Ahem, yeah just borrowing the whole concept.

A/N - Next chapter up. Hope people enjoy. Please review, it maketh me happy.

* * *

The Williams family were as plain as any family could be. Not extraordinary in any way, they could have blended into almost any crowd. Mac watched them from nearby the elevators. They had flown in from South Dakota just hours after being told of their daughter's death. He had organised a car to take them to and from the airports, and had pulled in a favour from a friend working for American Airlines. Absentmindedly, the CSI boss wondered how his own children might have turned out. The thought no longer stung as it had.

There was a close relationship between the three of them. Betty and Peter, the parents, sat either side of their younger daughter. Christine was just thirteen. Already taller than her diminutive mother, she nevertheless rested her head on Betty's shoulder. There was just one member of the Williams family still to arrive. He had a lot further to come.

"Hey."

Mac twisted round. "Hey Stella."

"Is that them?"

He nodded. "They got the first flight out here."

"What about the brother?"

"Flack spoke to his superiors. They're sending him home as soon as they can."

Lara's older brother, Pete Jr., was a soldier. He was in the fourth month of his tour in Iraq. There would be no more for him. On hearing what had happened, the army had acted with speed. He had been immediately released from duty. All that remained was to fly him back to America.

"Got anything interesting yet?"

"Nothing." Mac said. "We're waiting on the autopsy. Sid's rushing things through as much as he can, but he's as busy as the rest of us."

The preliminary examination of the body had revealed little to either Sid or the CSIs that they had not expected to find. Lara was dangerously thin. If she had not been in the grip of anorexia when she died, she could have been classed as a recovering anorexic. The massive wound to the side of her head had killed her - of that they had no doubt. Evidence of bleeding from it meant that she had been alive when she was struck.

Perhaps the only matter of interest so far was the tiny yellow flakes of paint found in Lara's wound. Mac had already taken samples. He had delivered them to Trace. The new tech there had been about to take a break. He had volunteered to work over it, and bypass the 'queuing system' that was supposed to ensure all cases were attended to fairly.

"What about your case?"

"All wrapped up." Stella said triumphantly.

Mac raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"The guy took one look at our evidence and begged the D.A. for a deal."

"Lucky you. Is the D.A. interested?"

"No. Anything fresh in?"

Mac shook his head. "See what you can do to help Lindsey and Hawkes."

"The serial rapist case?"

"Yeah. They're having trouble. Some evidence-" Mac yawned. "-got contaminated."

It had been an innocent mistake by a young rookie at the scene. There was still plenty to work with, but his error had cost the investigation dearly. Any further evidence might come under suspicion. Mac had already spoken to the young man's partner, who had assured him it would be dealt with. Their sergeant was very supportive of forensics. Mistakes like this drove him crazy.

"That's not good." Stella said unnecessarily. She took a closer look at her friend. "Mac, you look terrible."

He grinned. "Thanks Stella."

"Hey, I call 'em like I see 'em."

Over by the Williams family, activity had started. The detectives running the case - Flack and Bradwen - were greeting them. Mac was struck again by how close the family were. _No question about it, _he thought wearily, _I'll be seeing them a lot. _It was always hard to deal with the nearest and dearest of the victims. Stella tugged his sleeve, forcing him to leave the Williams to their grief.

"I happen to know that someone bought you lunch . I think you owe her dinner…" she said as they walked away.

* * *

Lindsey blinked to clear her vision. She checked her watch. It had only been a couple of hours since she started watching the security tapes from her case. A serial rapist had been targeting women around their late forties and early fifties. They were always attacked in their own apartment buildings; often actually in their homes. The tapes were from the latest attack. Emilia de Lugo was the guy's sixth victim. She had called it in right away.

Until the de Lugo attack, their guy had left little or no evidence behind. All they knew was that he was a slightly heavy-set man of average height, stubble, a deep, Midwestern voice, and possibly wore a dark green sweater. The last related to some tiny threads found on the fourth victim's nightgown. The cases had only been linked because the M.O. matched. Not only did the rapist attack in similar locations, he also went through the same ritual each time - the same methods, the same words. Until de Lugo. She had fought back in a way the others hadn't. Lindsey wouldn't dare to judge the others for how they had acted, but she did feel some admiration for Emilia.

When the police arrived, there was still semen on her. Lindsey had collected a full rape kit. It had been sent straight to the lab, whilst she worked the crime scene. Lindsey checked her watch again. They wouldn't have full genetic profile yet, but they might have something. Just as her hand reached for the phone, Hawkes walked in. His grim face told her everything she needed to know.

"What's wrong?" Lindsey asked.

Hawkes sat down next to her, and paused the tape. "Non-secretor." he explained.

"Damn it."

Around twenty percent of the population were non-secretors. This meant simply that their blood type antigens - the material that could be used to positively identify them - were not found in other bodily fluids. The samples could become useful when they had a suspect. Until then, it made life difficult for the CSIs.

"What about a search of the database for convicted non-secretors?" Hawkes suggested.

Lindsey squeezed her eyes shut. "It couldn't hurt."

"Good thing I already started it then."

She cracked open one eyelid. Hawkes' infectious smile greeted her. It was impossible not to match it. The search might not turn up anything, but it was a good place to start. Turning her attention back to the screen, Lindsey stole the remote back from her friend.

"It's more than we've got now, anyway."

Hawkes sighed, nodding. He was just as frustrated as Lindsey. The rapist had struck six times in six months. Panic was starting to spread. Each attack brought a fresh wave of criticisms in the press. They had, he thought darkly, made the case that much harder to work. Throwing his pen onto the desk, the tall CSI stole the remote back again and pressed play.

Hawkes leant sideways. "This as annoying as it looks?"

Lindsey shook her head. "More."


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER - No, I don't own any of it. Just borrowing it…

A/N - Only a short chapter, because I got a little bit stuck. Also, didn't want to make people wait too long for the next part of the story. Enjoy.

Oh, that very randomly reminds me. If you are enjoying this story, please review! If noone reviews, I don't know what is going right or wrong with the story. Thanks to those who have already done so. And if there's something you don't like about the story and think could be improved - let me know. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Merci.

* * *

Danny stood up and stretched wearily. He had taken hundreds of photos. There was little physical evidence in the apartment, but what they had was promising. The paint flecks that had turned up in Lara Williams' head wound were all over her beautiful apartment. Danny had also collected strands of hair from an estimated eighteen different sources. There were footprints everywhere too. He would have to spend a great deal of time eliminating the various law enforcement personnel who had entered the apartment, but it was a good place to start.

The case had not yet been picked apart by the media. A press conference scheduled for later that afternoon would start the frenzy. Danny could imagine the headlines. Sensationalist, insensitive - he shook his head in disgust. The CSI packed up his evidence and his field kit. He scanned the apartment one more time, checking for anything he might have missed. There was nothing that he could see.

Danny hated the high-profile cases. It meant more pressure at a time when the lab was already at breaking point. With all the cases piling up, they would be busy for weeks even if nothing else came in. Not to mention the fact that they were expected to produce results within days. _People don__'__t realise_, he thought, _that this stuff takes time_.

Since finishing the majority of his paperwork, and deciding to ignore the rest, Mac had joined the younger man on the case. Danny was immensely relieved. His boss hated the politics of the job, but he was good at it. It couldn't hurt to work this one alongside the lab's most qualified CSI. The young man stood, stretched, and winced at the sound of his joints popping. It was like opening an old-fashioned glass bottle of Coke.

* * *

Flack sipped his coffee gingerly. It was first out of a fresh pot. He winced as the boiling liquid burnt his mouth, He was used to gulping down hot food and drinks, but this was liquid fire. Still, he mused, it would definitely do its job. The detective had spent half the previous night awake, thanks to the baby in the apartment next to his. She was only four months old. Flack was praying that her nightly squalling would stop soon. It was that, he decided, or he would invest in earplugs.

Somewhere in the building, Flack's boss was probably baying for his blood. The tall detective had taken refuge in the CSI break room. Today was not a good day to be a cop. The boss's daughter had been (discreetly) dropped off at home at three am that morning by officers from the man's own precinct. She had been blind drunk. It was only the fact that one of them recognised her that kept the girl from a night in the cells and a criminal record. Still, Flack thought that relief had been balanced out by the fact that everybody knew about it.

The door swung open. Lindsey walked in, looking half-asleep. She made straight for the coffee.

"Hey, Lindsey."

She jumped, spilling scalding hot liquid everywhere. "Flack!" Lindsey snapped. "Don't do that!"

"Do what?"

She stopped halfway through mopping the mess up aggressively with a paper towel. "Sorry. It's just-"

"Case getting to you?" Flack said.

"Oh yeah. No suspect, no leads, contamination of possibly vital evidence…" Her voice trailed off.

It had been accidental. The poor rookie hadn't realised he was doing harm to the case, and had been horrified when he found out.

"It happens."

Lindsey joined the detective on the sofa with her own cup of coffee. "Yeah." She brightened suddenly. "How's the supermodel case?"

"Don't ask. Danny and Mac are no happier than you are."

"That bad?"

"Worse. We just spoke to the boyfriend. He was on a plane from Philadelphia, flying back to see Lara today. It was delayed. Cast-iron alibi - he was arguing with airport staff every five minutes."

"Anybody else you can look at?"

Flack counted them off on his hands. "Parents were in South Dakota. Younger sister was in South Dakota - she starred in a school production last night. Brother was in Iraq. Friends are all in fashion - most of them are in Europe, and the rest, God knows where."

Lindsey thought for a moment. "She must have had friends who weren't in fashion."

Flack shrugged. "Sure. We spoke to one of them. Apparently Lara loved New York and never wanted to come home. She sounded bitter."

The pair sat in a morose, but comfortable silence. Lindsey picked at the cuff button on her long-sleeved shirt. It wouldn't sit right. Flack, for his part, stared into his coffee and tried to think through an exhausted haze.


	4. Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER - Not mine.

A/N - OK. Am cutting this story shorter. This is an unusually short chapter, because I haven't been updating regularly. Chances are, this story will go for about ten chapters. So I should be finished with it (even if it is not all posted) by the end of next week. Cool.

* * *

Mac and Danny sat facing the daunting crowd of photographers, cameras and journalists. The younger CSI blinked wearily, his eyes irritated by the constant flashing lights. A quick glance sideways revealed Mac looking unruffled. Danny knew his boss had experience in dealing with these situations. He wished he had half the composure.

Once the baying press pack were settled, there was a short statement by the local precinct chief. Following that, Lara Williams' parents read out a prepared speech in shaky voices. Danny cleared his throat. He did it away from the microphone, but still earned an irritated glance from his boss. Something told Danny that Mac was feeling the pressure too.

He squinted under the bright lights. This press conference was a waste of their time. Everybody knew it, but nobody had the guts to say it. The chief had grown tired of relaying news to the media piecemeal, and had passed the buck. Though Mac was ostensibly in charge of the circus, Danny knew he would have to answer questions. Journalists would want to know how he had initially approached the case.

The trick was answering their questions without giving too much information away. Danny had been hurriedly coached by two frantic press officers. Each had seemed equally convinced that he was going to give something away that could have proven vital to the investigation if kept under wraps. With an impressive effort, Danny had kept his temper. He was reassured when they went through the same performance with Mac. His boss had been less understanding.

It was a case that threatened to spiral out of control. Every piece of information was being jealously guarded. Everyone was under the spotlight. Danny knew that several uniformed officers and one tech had already been approached for further under-the-table information. It was a mystery to Danny. He could understand giving in to the lure of money if you were desperate, even if he wouldn't forgive it. What he failed to comprehend was the way the less reputable journalists hounded his colleagues. What did they hope to achieve, the CSI wondered.

"You ready?" Mac said, quietly.

Danny gave an almost imperceptible nod. "Always."

Mac stood up, and tapped on the microphone. The squealing noise caught everybody's attention. Journalists took their seats. Cameraman and photographers made their final adjustments. The senior CSI waited till there was complete silence.

He cleared his throat. "This press conference has been called to share what information we can with you all concerning the death of Lara Williams…"


	5. Chapter 5

DISCLAIMER - not mine.

A/N - Glum, glum, glumness. On the other hand, I have another chapter written. Hope everyone likes it. Now, must go and do some quality sulking.

* * *

With the press conference out of the way, and the lab now the domain of the next shift, Danny had persuaded Mac to go with him to a local bar. They sat at a small wooden table, each savouring the taste of their cold beer. It was quiet in the tiny bar. Just the way the two CSIs liked it.

After the short speech Mac read out, the press had descended like a pack of wolves. Their questions had grown more and more personal, until Mac had called a halt to proceedings. The tone of questioning had become almost malicious, grasping for any hint of scandal in the life of a minor celebrity. It was sickening to watch. Though several of the more reputable news sources had kept their line of questioning within acceptable limits, others had tried to tear Lara Williams to pieces.

Danny let his mind drift back to the horrible time a few months ago when Mac's own life had been under the spotlight. His stalker, Timothy Baywater, had stirred up old feelings for Mac Taylor that were best left alone. It was the angriest Danny had ever seen his boss. Although his temper hadn't quite reached those heights yet - he hadn't gotten himself suspended, for example - Danny was pretty sure Mac had been close to losing control in the press conference.

There was so little to go on that Danny was beginning to lose heart. He hoped fervently that Lindsey and Hawkes were further along in their investigation. They had seemed as low as he felt. _Still_, the young man reasoned, _at least we have those hairs and paint flecks to examine_. It was more than they'd had earlier.

Mac, for his part, was thinking over the scene itself. There was no sign of a break-in, but the window leading onto the fire escape was open. It followed that either Lara had let her killer into the apartment, and they had escaped via the window, or the killer had entered and exited the apartment through that same window. His instinct suggested the former. It felt like something personal. Lara's attack had been vicious.

He was reassured by the fact that Sid Hammerback's backlog had finally cleared enough for him to carry out the full autopsy. Other cases, no less important than this one, had been higher up the list. The Williams family had been very understanding. Mac wondered if he could have maintained the same level of calm in their situation. He doubted it.

"Hey, Mac."

He looked up at Danny. "What is it?"

"She has to have friends round here, right?"

"Probably."

"So - who's most likely to know? Not her agency. She's a commodity to them, and from what everyone back home in South Dakota says, Lara never was easy to fool."

Mac chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Her doorman might."

Danny shook his head. "Guy admits he isn't always a hundred percent. And the back door didn't look too safe." he said.

"So much for buying the best. Maybe a café?"

"Yeah…she didn't eat, but maybe she drank a lot of coffee, or something. Anything for a little conversation." Danny said softly.

Their victim had been headed for a bright academic future when the modelling agency had spotted her. The way her family told it, Lara had always intended to go back to school. Her career was just taking off, but she had made enquiries about enrolling in distance learning courses to finish her high school diploma. Lara's true ambition, apparently, was to become a psychotherapist. Danny had hardly been able to hold back his surprise at that.

He supposed he was as guilty as anyone of pigeonholing Lara Williams. She had been trapped in life - and now in death - by the expectations other people had of her. His own belief that models equalled stupidity was just as bad as anything he'd heard in the press conference. Danny was ashamed of himself, and prepared to admit it. Fortunately, the young CSI had not voiced any of this. His boss would be unimpressed by his assumptions about their victim's character.

Swigging once more from the bottle of beer resting in his left hand, Danny glanced at his boss. Mac was far away in a world of his own. Not for the first time, the younger man wondered what went on in Mac Taylor's head.

* * *

Stella grinned triumphantly. The three of them had been watching videos for hours. Much of the footage was grainy and useless, but they had gotten lucky. One of the tapes from Emilia de Lugo's apartment building had yielded a result. It showed her walking to the stairs, where she had been attacked. Moments after de Lugo had started up the stairwell, a tall figure appeared in the top-right of the screen. It walked closer and closer, until a slightly grainy face could be made out.

Clicking the pause button, Sheldon turned to his colleagues. A wide grin was spread across his face. His earlier frustration was fading away. He copied the picture on-screen (the best they could get of the face) to a high-tech computer program.

"This is where I take over, huh?" Lindsey said. She had recently undergone training on the program - a three-day course paid for by the city.

"Well I have no idea how it works…" Stella admitted.

Lindsey nodded, sliding her chair in front of the computer. As the others watched over her shoulder with anticipation, she set about improving the clarity of the image in front of her. "Don't hold your breath guys." she warned. "This might be the best we get."


	6. Chapter 6

DISCLAIMER - Not mine.

A/N - Ah ha! I'm back! Please read and review - the latter, whether you enjoyed it or not. Constructive criticism always welcome. The other kind, I just ignore! Anyways, apologies if this reads like it was a bit rushed. I had a moment of inspiration, and decided not to ignore it.

* * *

Mac slid the sample of blonde hair under the microscope. It was a powerful piece of equipment that allowed the CSI to examine the structure of the hair. Immediately, he knew the sample was human. Looking more closely, Mac found that the follicle to which the hair was attached was club-shaped. It indicated that the hair fell out, rather than being forcibly removed. Otherwise, there was little remarkable about it. The colour and construction of the hair indicated European origin, and its condition suggested that the owner was not much older than Lara herself.

"Find anything, boss?"

The head CSI turned away from the microscope, gratefully accepting a cup of coffee from Danny. The younger man had also been examining hairs - with so many different types of hair, they were under considerable pressure.

"Caucasian, probably around the victim's age, could be older, could be younger. Fell out naturally. You?"

Danny slumped into a spare chair. "Not much better. Got two types of cat hair - one kinda blue, one black."

"Se-"

"I got someone taking a closer look, trying to figure out the breed." Danny interrupted. He grinned widely. "See, I'm organised."

"Uh huh. Anything else?"

"Hairs from the boyfriend and the parents so far. Still have to take a look at the other daughter."

"And the son."

Danny nodded. "Any idea how long it'll be before he gets back into the country?"

"He's back. Parents won't let him come in till he's rested." Mac said.

The Williams family were unbelievably accommodating. So often families crowded investigations, hampering the work of the very people they were trying to incite. Mac wondered briefly whether their 'enthusiasm' was a good sign or a bad one. It was difficult not to be suspicious after so many cases proved those suspicions correct. He wondered what this loss of trust in people said about him, and decided he didn't want to know.

"So -"

"We keep examining them, Danny."

"OK. You want me to go to Trace, ask about the paint?" Danny said, reluctantly getting to his feet.

Mac gave a sharp nod. "Call me, let me know what they have."

He swivelled the chair back in front of the microscope, and re-examined the evidence. Sometimes, a second look revealed something that had been missed the first time round. On this occasion, there was nothing new. Mac sighed heavily. He picked up his pen, and began making notes.

* * *

Stella chewed the end of her pen. She had retreated to Mac's office for some peace and quiet, knowing full well that he would not be there to kick her out. The lab could be very busy at times. It made it harder for her to think.

No small effort had gone into her current case. Stella, in essence, was just one in a very long line of detectives and forensics specialists who had worked it. Her own contribution, as she had reminded herself constantly, could be the vital one. Emilia de Lugo had visited the lab to enquire about the progression of the case. Apparently she had spoken to one of the other victims about the attacks. Neither of them were very hopeful.

It was partly because of this that Stella, Sheldon, and Lindsey, had redoubled their efforts. Tests that frequently backed up, and could be difficult to obtain, were mysteriously produced hours ahead of schedule. Sheldon alone had been forced to promise two dates, one loan of a book, one takeout from a place of the lab tech's choice and a very large bottle of whisky. Worryingly, nobody seemed sure if Sheldon had even promised himself as the dates.

She knew that they were not a means of setting her up on a blind date. Sheldon had been warned what the consequences would be. There was no way Danny or Lindsey could be persuaded to do it. That only left Mac Taylor and Don Flack. Stella laughed out loud at the thought. Woe betide Sheldon if he had promised either of them to those he had 'persuaded'.

Sitting back, Stella tried to think of the last time she had managed a brief moment of levity. The exercise only made her grumpy and miserable again. Tapping the pen against the arm of her chair, the CSI decided that she and her colleagues were taking a break. They were all coming to dinner. Whether they liked it or not. Pushing themselves too far would do nobody any good, least of all the victims. Stella grinned to herself. _Maybe Sheldon could bring those dates_, she thought wickedly to herself.

That decision made, she leapt to her feet. Her sudden switch back to a good mood was rudely interrupted when she realised Mac was leaning against the doorway, an amused smirk on his face.

"Enjoying my office?"

Stella grinned sheepishly. "It's quiet in here."

"Not always." He walked past her, and dumped an armful of files onto the desk. "Sometimes people borrow it." Mac slumped into his chair and ran a hand over his exhausted face.

"Ah - well - I figured you wouldn't mind." Stella said.

"Relax. It's fine. Everyone else is in the break room."

She recognised a dismissal when she heard it. Before leaving though, Stella turned to speak to Mac. He looked up at her almost immediately.

"What?"

His old friend smiled softly. "Dinner at mine tonight, Mac. Not optional."

"You can cook?"

"Very funny." Stella said, raising an eyebrow. "For that, you can help me make it."

"It being?"

She shrugged. "I hadn't decided. Bring Peyton."

He smiled genially in return, and nodded. Stella turned away, and headed for the break room. _One down, four to go_, she told herself. The CSI passed the spare seconds trying to think of something she could cook that everyone would enjoy. She supposed that given how well-fed they'd all been recently, it didn't matter too much.


	7. Chapter 7

DISCLAIMER - Not mine.

A/N - This chapter is a break from the case - a real departure for me, I think, but an important way of developing the story. You'll see what I mean later on. Please review.

* * *

Stella had to admit, she was impressed with herself. Cooking for one was something she did all the time. Cooking for two wasn't much of a stretch. Cooking for eight - Stella had invited Louise Richmond on a whim - was surprisingly difficult. Nonetheless, she had everything in order, with plenty of time to spare. A pasta bake was bubbling away in the oven. The salad was chopped and ready in the fridge. Dessert was defrosting on the wide, and she had already opened the wine, allowing it to breathe.

Much of this success, she had to admit, was thanks to Mac Taylor. He was currently slouched on her sofa, holding an icy beer. Her own drink was waiting on the coffee table. It wasn't until he had arrived at the door, holding a bag of ingredients, that Stella realised how little she had seen her old friend recently. Yet they still knew each other well. He had foreseen that she would forget to go shopping. She had known he would forget beer and wine.

"Stella!"

She grinned, and walked back into the living room area. "What?"

Mac held her beer up. "It's getting warm."

There was still evidence of low temperature on the bottle. Stella took it, and attempted to look fierce. Mac looked right back at her. He wore an innocent expression, and was trying not altogether successfully to hide a grin. The beer was still icy cold. Evidently her absence had been noted.

She took a seat, and took a long drink. It tasted good - slightly sweet, yet slightly bitter. Stella sighed contentedly. An infectious laugh burst through the air. The female CSI opened her eyes, and glared at Mac. He looked just about as happy as she'd seen him in years.

"Think you're funny, huh?"

He shook his head. "No." A glint appeared in Mac's eyes. "Hilarious, actually."

Stella laughed, a deep sound, right from the belly. "OK, Mac. Whatever you want to believe is fine with me."

"Peyton thinks I'm funny."

"She's obligated to. I'm not."

Mac tried to look serious. It only made Stella laugh harder. Frowning, he thought for a moment. The next thing she knew, a cushion hit her full in the face. Stella stared at her friend, open-mouthed.

"A _cushion_? Marine, police detective, highly qualified CSI, and the best you can come up with is a _cushion_?"

Mac shrugged, unabashed. "It's low-tech, but it works."

Stella stood, shaking her hair. She walked past him, back to the kitchen - stopping to ruffle Mac's hair on the way. He scowled at her back. By the time Stella returned from checking on the pasta, he had repaired the damage.

"Mac." she said.

He turned towards her - "Wha-" - and never finished his sentence, as the offensive cushion hit him.

"Never underestimate a woman. We fight dirty."

He threw the cushion back down onto the sofa. "So I see."

A knock at the door saved Stella from whatever Mac had been about to say. She looked through the peephole. It was the rest of the CSI team, accompanied by Flack. Only Peyton was not with them. They greeted her with tired smiles. Danny held up a double-sized bottle of wine.

"Wasn't sure if you'd have any." Lindsey explained helpfully.

Stella stood aside, letting the whole troupe in. They stopped short at the sight of Mac with his feet up on Stella's coffee table. Danny grinned wickedly at Flack. He walked carefully up to the sofa.

"One step further, Danny, and I will make sure you get dumpster duty for the next six months."

The younger man swore under his breath. He turned back to his other colleagues. "How does he do that?"

"You're not that subtle, Danny." his girlfriend said.

With that, the gentle banter that characterised all their good times broke out. Sheldon, for his part, was refusing to give up any information on the two dates he had negotiated. Even Flack's bargaining didn't get anything out of him. Stella had a sneaking suspicion that there was going to be fallout from this.

She returned to the kitchen while the others made themselves comfortable. Listening to their conversation brought out a contentment Stella had missed.

"You got any beer in there?" Danny asked from the entrance.

Stella nodded. "Help yourselves."

He slouched over to the fridge, and pulled open the door. Danny took out a beer for each of the new arrivals.

"Opener's in there." Stella said.

"Thanks. Hey -" Danny paused. He looked over his shoulder. "I thought Peyton was coming?"

"So did I. She's probably just running late."

"Huh. You know Hawkes promised those dates?"

"Not with Mac?"

Danny laughed. "No. He's a smart guy. Flack - and you."

Stella closed her eyes. She couldn't keep herself from smiling. Her colleague had faithfully promised that he would never set her up on a blind date. Apparently he had forgotten. On the other hand, Sheldon would never set her up with someone unsuitable. A new thought burst into Stella's head. _Why not give it a try_, the thought said slyly.

"Fine. I'll do it. Just let him sweat for a while."

Danny nodded. "No problem. He got himself into this."

"And you want to see the fallout."

"Gonna be like a car wreck when Flack finds out."

"Gotta be better than Monique." Stella said.

Danny conceded the point. He left Stella to finish preparing dinner. Back in the living area, everyone had found a seat. Danny passed out the beers. While everyone was opening theirs, he pulled up a chair from the dining table.

"Hey boss." he said.

Mac looked up. "What is it, Danny?"

"You bringing Peyton tonight?"

There was an almost tangible tension, while everyone waited to see Mac's reaction. He nodded calmly. "She'll be here later."

Danny sat back, satisfied. "Good. I gotta ask her about a DVD she mentioned."

"She might not lend it to you."

"Why's that?"

Mac raised an eyebrow. "Peyton's a little possessive over her DVDs. She won't let me borrow them."

Out in the kitchen, Stella put the finishing touches to the dinner and congratulated herself again on a brilliant idea.


	8. Chapter 8

DISCLAIMER - Not mine.

A/N - Three chapters in one night? Oh yeah… Just don't expect this rate of posting too often! Please review, and thanks very much for reading.

* * *

The team lay around, stomachs full and minds rested. Apart from a minor incident when Sheldon had confessed to Flack about the date he had to go on, they had been completely relaxed. Stella corrected herself. From her favourite chair, she had a good view of the one person who hadn't been completely at ease. Mac's mood was good, but it had deteriorated from the childish frame of mind that had provoked the pillow fight earlier. He had received a call halfway through the evening. It was already clear that Peyton wouldn't be coming. What wasn't clear was why. He hadn't been prepared to share. Not that Stella could complain. Mac had made every effort to ignore whatever had bothered him about that call. She liked to think he had really enjoyed the evening.

Danny had spent the whole time dropping hints about Sheldon's 'deal'. That was, until the ex-medical examiner finally cracked. Since then, he had been teasing Flack. The detective hadn't been amused, but his mood had improved when he found out who he was going on a date with.

"_Danny, you're an ass." Flack said. _

"_Me? What did I do?"_

_The detective scowled at his friend. "What, you don't think this is funny? You're not sitting there laughing?"_

_Stella didn't think she'd ever seen Danny look so guilty. Lindsey rolled her eyes, and slapped her boyfriend upside the head. He flinched and scowled. _

"_Flack, I'm sorry-"_

"_You, don't talk to me." Flack snapped._

_Hawkes sighed. "OK, but I really am sorry."_

_He was beginning to regret his decision to give in to the tech's insistent negotiations. Really, it was all Danny's fault anyway. Something the other man had said earlier in the day had give Sheldon the idea. He figured that made the blame only fifty percent his. Not that Danny would see it that way, he admitted to himself._

_The atmosphere in the room had become tense. So much so that Mac had excused himself to go and do some washing up. He didn't want to be the boss tonight. Ignoring the situation entirely seemed to be the best option. Stella followed him quickly. _

_They came back half an hour later, and found the atmosphere had improved. Evidently, they had set aside the argument for the time being. Their moods improved even more when Stella and Mac produced dessert. Chocolate sponge pudding. Stella bowed to the gods of freezer fare when it came to dessert. No sense in spoiling the most perfect part of a meal by making it yourself._

"_Stella, where did you get this?" Lindsey asked, her eyes shut in obvious enjoyment._

"_Place down the street. European supermarket."_

"_I think-" the younger woman said. "-that I'm in heaven."_

_Flack set down his empty bowl and spoon. He looked up to see everyone staring at him. "What? It was good."_

"_I know, but - that was impressive." Stella said._

_A few moments later, five more bowls joined the tall detective's on the coffee table, with a loud clatter. Six people sat around with benevolent expressions on their faces. Flack sat forward, with effort. He'd eaten much more than he had intended to._

"_OK, Hawkes. Who did you set me up with?"_

_Everyone suddenly became alert. Hawkes grinned. "Louise Richmond."_

"_Louise? She's a document examiner."_

"_She used to work in the fingerprint lab. A real pro at it." the ex- medical examiner explained._

"_Huh." Flack said. He caught the looks on the others' faces. "What? It could be worse."_

_Nobody made any comment, but they all knew Flack harboured an interest in the older woman. She wasn't conventionally beautiful, but people were drawn to her. Including, apparently, Don Flack. Danny had cracked within five minutes._

Just then, a loud bleeping interrupted the peace. Mac sat up reluctantly, and checked his cell phone. He cursed under his breath, and left the room. Stella wanted to go after him, and find out what was wrong, but she knew better. If it was personal, he would tell her when he was ready. If it was business, badgering Mac would just annoy him unnecessarily.

Sure enough, her boss reappeared moments later. He wore a grim expression on his face that Stella had not missed. She nudged Flack with her foot. In tern, he alerted the others.

"What's up?" she asked quietly.

Mac's expression darkened. "The press have exclusive photos of the murder scene."

There was no need to say anything more. Even if they hadn't known the consequences, Mac's face said it all. Between him and the Chief, heads would roll.


	9. Chapter 9

DISCLAIMER - Not mine.

A/N - This chapter is a little unfinished - and somehow this story has re-mutated into something much longer. Who knew? Anyways, I decided to post it, because I'll lose momentum otherwise. Please review!

* * *

Everyone who had worked on the Lara Williams case so far was crammed into a conference room on the Chief's floor. It was getting hotter, even though somebody had forced two of the sealed windows open. There was a divide in the room. Scientists and lab techs on one side, detectives and uniformed officers on the other. Flack stood with his colleagues. Stella, Danny, Sheldon and Lindsey stood with theirs.

"How mad do you think they're gonna be?"

Stella twisted round. Gruber was standing behind her, wringing his hands nervously. She smiled at him. "If you didn't leak it, you have nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, but - there's going to be yelling." Gruber said.

Of that, there was no doubt. Stella remembered how Mac had been the previous night. His tightly set jaw betrayed his fury. It wasn't just the fact that the case had been compromised. The betrayal of a victim, to the detriment of her family and friends, bothered him. It bothered all of them. _At least_, Stella thought morosely, _I hope it does_.

A large part of her was hoping that one of the detectives was at fault. That way, she could feel confident that she had not misjudged one of her own colleagues so badly. Thinking that only made the CSI feel guilty though. She knew the detectives and officers were suffering in all this too. It reflected poorly on everybody.

"I would think there will be yelling, yes." Louise said under her breath. "In fact, if someone doesn't pop a vein, I'll be surprised."

"This is not going to end well." Gruber said.

Nobody could argue with that. They were even less inclined to a moment later, when the Chief's personal assistant arrived, looking flustered. She announced that he, Detective Taylor and Captain Lewis would be arriving in a few moments. The middle-aged woman disappeared as quickly as she had arrived.

"That can't be good."

Every person in the overcrowded room focused their attention on Detective Bradwen.

He loosened his tie. "She's a well-dressed lady, right? Prides herself on it. Never looks harassed or unprofessional, never drops the ball."

This was true, and it was also the complete opposite of how Allison McAvoy had looked moments before. She had looked messy and flustered.

"We are so screwed." One of the younger officers leaned heavily against the wall and shut his eyes.

It was no more than ten minutes before the real trouble arrived. The Chief was first in the room. He waited till Mac and Lewis were inside before shutting the door. Each of them wore a grim expression. Lewis took a seat, near his detectives. Mac stood, by the door, in a neutral area. His people knew he supported them. They also knew that if one of them had leaked the information, he wouldn't hesitate for anything before firing the guilty party.

"You all know that the papers have photographs of Lara Williams' apartment. They also have photos of her body, which fortunately they all elected not to print." The Chief said. He stood ramrod straight in front of them, professional to a fault. "Someone in this room gave out those pictures. Someone sold the last of this girl's dignity for a few lousy bucks." He paused for effect. "I know some of you don't get paid too well. For what it's worth - I've been there. But selling your soul like this isn't worth it. Give yourselves up now, and yes, you'll be fired."

Stella wanted to get out of the room. It was oppressively hot, but it was the Chief's tightly angry speech that was making her feel so strange. She felt guilty by association.

"However-" he was saying. "-however, we will take no further action. The family say they simply want this resolved."

The Chief gestured for Captain Lewis to take over. His speech was largely useless rhetoric. The man was a great cop, and brilliant at certain aspects of his new job, but speeches and so forth didn't come naturally. After Lewis finished, he stepped aside for Mac to take over.

If he had looked pissed last night, Stella couldn't quite categorize how he looked now. Stormy eyes and stiff posture gave him away, but then Mac wasn't really trying very hard. He paced up and down for a few moments. Stella felt the tension go up a few notches.

"You already know what the consequences of this could be. Whoever did this will sitting down with the Williams family and explaining why they jeopardized the investigation."

With barely controlled anger, Mac walked out, slamming the door shut behind him. The Chief and Captain Lewis exchanged glances. Stella got the feeling that there was more to this story.

* * *

"Blue British Shorthair and American Shorthair. Both relatively common breeds."

The expert handed two pieces of paper to Danny, before turning and leaving the break room. He had requested that she deliver the information personally. Time was of the essence. Apparently that request had not improved his standing in her eyes.

"Great. There's only-"

"The agent has a cat." Stella interrupted.

She had everyone's attention. The agent had come in immediately after one of the officers had called him. Graeme Willoughby was a business school graduate, with power and money, in an industry plagued with exploitative practices and people. Nevertheless he had seemed genuinely upset.

"Makes sense that Lara's agent would be at her apartment." Lindsey said.

"What doesn't make sense is why the hair was found in the bedroom."

The CSIs turned to see their boss in the doorway. He walked in and took a seat. Mac's earlier anger seemed to have dissipated.

"It could've gotten in there any number of ways." Stella said.

Mac shrugged. "Yeah. Including him sleeping with his client."

"I'll speak to Flack." she offered.

"Don't worry. I have to go see him anyway. He thinks he might know who leaked the photos."

They exchanged worried glances. If Mac had been called in to hear the information, that probably meant the leak was in the lab. Danny shook his head angrily. He didn't like to think that someone he worked with had gone behind all their backs. Had exposed what little privacy Lara Williams and her family had left.


	10. Chapter 10

DISCLAIMER - Not mine.

A/N - Hmmm…things should start getting very interesting soon. Hope you enjoy this chapter. Please review! The more reviews I get, the more inspired I get (subtle, no?).

* * *

Mac arrived at the Chief's office feeling a deep sense of foreboding. The case had become a monster, enveloping everybody. To have it so callously derailed was infuriating. Flack's insistence that he meet the detective in the Chief's office, even more so. He knew, with a terrible certainty, that it was someone in the lab who had leaked the photos. They had the easiest access to the negatives and prints after all. He hesitated in the waiting area. 

He glanced sideways, at Flack. The detective would not meet his eye. Mac stood behind the spare seat. He gripped the back of it tightly. It hadn't escaped his notice that the Chief was nervously flipping a pen between his thick fingers. For a man who was becoming ever more involved with politics, he failed miserably at hiding his anxiety.

"Sit down, Detective Taylor."

Mac smiled without humour. "I'll stand."

The Chief matched his expression. "As you wish." he said.

"What is this about?"

Flack shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "The pictures, Mac." he said softly. "They came from the lab."

"And?"

"We have reason to suspect they came from one of your CSIs."

Mac switched his sharp gazed back to the Chief, who didn't back down. A sinking feeling settled in the ex-Marine. He had believed in his people. Stella was an old friend. Danny - Lindsey - Sheldon - they were all people he had selected with care. All people he trusted, despite the occasional hiccup along the way.

"One of my team?"

Flack nodded. "Or someone close to them."

"One of the techs."

This was starting to look suspicious. With the political and financial situation growing worse, people were getting very nervous. Mac supposed, dully, that he should have expected something like this. An angry or desperate person might have seen the photos as a way of getting revenge, or making money fast. It made him feel nauseous.

"Any ideas?" the Chief asked. He leaned forward.

Mac's shoulders drooped. His grip on the chair tightened till his knuckles went white. "No."

"Get some. Fast."

With that, the Chief opened a thin file that lay on his desk. Mac risked a glance across at Flack. The detective still could not meet his eyes. With a growl, Mac turned on his heel, and stormed out of the office. Flack twisted in his chair just in time to see the door slam.

"That went better than I expected."

Flack faced the Chief. "It went better?"

The Chief shrugged. "Yeah. You ever seen Mac _really_ mad?"

* * *

Graeme Willoughby shifted from side to side in his chair, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. He knew that the Williams family would find out about his relationship with Lara. Equally, he knew that when her older brother found out about it, all hell would break loose. Casting a glance upwards, Willoughby caught CSI Bonasera's eye. She stared right back at him. _A beautiful woman like that, made of steel_, he thought wryly, _and she's here scraping under my goddamned fingernails_.

"So," he said quietly, "you know about me and Lara?"

The CSI packed the sample away. "We had an idea."

"I know-"

"Mr Willoughby, maybe you should wait for your lawyer."

He shook his head. "No. Lara and I - well, it was a mistake, obviously. I won't try to excuse my actions."

Stella clasped her hands together. She looked him directly in the eye, waiting for Graeme Willoughby to start talking about his lover. In the background, Detective Bradwen stood listening in. Though it was his job to speak to the agent, it couldn't hurt to simply let him talk. And if he was more comfortable explaining things to Stella Bonasera, Bradwen wasn't concerned. He could have chosen worse amongst the PD itself.

The tale Willoughby spun was convincing. It seemed that he had taken Lara on as a client when she was just fifteen years old and he had just turned twenty one, on a visit to see his mother in Pierre, South Dakota. He had just been starting out at the agency - Lara was his first 'discovery'. They had been close from the start, though as Willoughby told it, the relationship was platonic.

"Lara wanted to be a big star. She was doing pretty good - not quite as good as she wanted though." the agent explained.

He continued, in a low voice, explaining how his young star had become increasingly isolated. Too young to go out drinking with some of the older models, and too far from her old friends, she had few people to rely on. It was then that the close working relationship Lara and her agent had fostered deepened into a friendship. Willoughby admitted having sex with Lara, but maintained that it had only happened after she turned eighteen.

"I know I should never have let anything happen with Lara - but she meant a lot to me. It - it wouldn't have gone on much longer, but we were friends above anything else." Willoughby finished. He bit his lip, fighting back tears.

Stella's disapproval of him wavered. "What about the night Lara died?"

"I told you already - I wasn't at her apartment. We agreed to have a couple of weeks apart."

"Was she seeing anybody else? Confiding in anybody?"

Willoughby shrugged. "Don't think she was seeing anybody else. I hope not - but she was very young, and maybe a little impressionable." He blushed, as if realising how that sounded. "Lara was smart. She was never overwhelmed or impressed by me. As far as she was concerned, I was like a local guy from Pierre. Some of the people she met at work though, they turned her head."

"Anybody in particular?" Bradwen asked.

"Not really. Maybe Ellis Freeley. He's a photographer - but he's been in South Africa for the last six weeks." Willoughby ran a hand across his growing stubble. "Lukas DiBeneditto."

Stella recognised the name, despite herself. DiBeneditto was probably the best known male model in the United States. He had worked for most of the major fashion houses at one time or another, and at twenty two, still had time left at the top. The young man also had a terrible reputation as a womaniser. Whatever Graeme Willoughby wanted to think, his young lover probably had gotten involved with the male model.

"Did Lara confide in anybody?" Stella asked again.

Willoughby sighed. "Apart from me? There was an old lady who lived in an apartment across the street. Lara bumped into her once, and the lady spilled all her shopping. The way Lara told it, they were pretty close." He chewed his lip anxiously. "If she was cheating on me - that lady would know about it."


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer - Still not mine.

A/N - After a long absence, a flurry of updates from me. However, no promises that I will be updating anytime soon. If I get the ideas though, you should see another chapter in the next couple of days.

* * *

It wasn't hard to see why so many women had fallen for Lukas DiBeneditto's charms. He was beautiful. Tall, lean and muscular, in just the right way, Lindsay was sure she would have been drooling over him in better circumstances, and damn the age difference. It was his eyes though, that set him apart. They were dark and captivating; almost otherworldly.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner." He said, so softly she had to strain to hear it.

Flack looked surprised. "That's alright Mr DiBeneditto. Shall we get started?"

"Lukas is fine. What do you need to know?"

"How close were you and Lara?"

A twisted, sad smile flickered at the edge of his mouth. "I wasn't sleeping with her, if that's what you're asking."

"You were close?"

"I loved her."

Lukas began, haltingly, to explain. They had first met each other around three years previously, at a show. It was her first major job, and he was already a rising star. His reputation with women was developing too. The young man admitted he flirted equally with supermodels, checkout girls, fans – everyone. It was just easy for him. Lara, on the other hand, had not been impressed. Aged just fifteen, she had looked at him – Lukas had been trying to persuade her to get another model's number for him – with a mixture of disgust and fascination.

"Noone had spoken to me like that in forever." He said. "Dismissive. She didn't give a damn who I was." The crooked smile reappeared. "I liked that."

She had still been a child, and his interest was exclusively in women, so that first conversation – and those that followed – were on platonic terms. They had met often enough over the following two years that Lukas considered them good friends. Lara had coached him through more than one dubious love affair. For his part, he had passed on whatever wisdom – and rumours – he could about the modelling world.

"We had a good time together. No expectations."

Flack raised an eyebrow. "When did that change?"

"It didn't. Not exactly."

_The hotel room was much better than usual. Lara's stock in the modelling world had gone up since they had last met. Lukas settled himself further into the mass of pillows on the luxurious bed and channel-hopped. He settled finally on CNN, idly passing the time till Lara was done in the shower. They were going to indulge in what she called a 'film festival'. Two movies – ones Lara had picked, since she didn't trust his taste – and snacks their agents would go ballistic about. Lukas grinned. It sounded perfect._

"_Hey, you're into current affairs now? I'm impressed."_

_Lukas jumped, his heart thudding against his chest. He scowled at her. She just grinned in reply. He had been lost in thought, and hadn't heard the bathroom door open. The young man looked at his friend, ready with a scathing comment. He froze. Lara had put on a baggy pair of jeans and an old rugby shirt that a friend had sent over from England. She was just combing her wet hair, eyes twinkling with amusement. God, she was beautiful. Lukas tried to swallow. His mouth had gone suddenly dry. The thudding of his heart, which had ceased, started up with a vengeance._

"_Hello? Anybody home?"_

_Lukas could hardly get the words out. "You know you're beautiful, right?"_

_The question didn't even slow her down. A combination, he supposed, of being used to it, and half-expecting him to hit on her one day. _

"_Behave, Benny." She said, waving her hairbrush at him._

"_I mean it. Really."_

_The teenager frowned. She pulled her long hair back into a ponytail and sat near Lukas on the bed. Only, if he remembered right, because the chair was on the other side of the room._

"_I know you do." She said._

_He sat up, trying to make sense of this. She looked away from him sadly._

"_But-"_

"_Lukas, I know you've liked me for a while. Not since we met – that would just be weird. And illegal, probably." She said, trying to lighten the mood. Seeing that it had failed, she sighed. "But for a while."_

"_I-"_

_She kissed him then, and Lukas would remember it as a perfect moment. Clarity visited him, and he knew that the constant womanizing he indulged in was not what he really wanted. She sat back, and the soft smile on her beautiful face was worth every moment of uncertainty. _

"_I love you, Lara." He said, taking her slender hand in his._

"We didn't sleep together. We had our little movie marathon, and I went back to my room."

Flack waited patiently for the young man to continue.

"That was about three weeks before her eighteenth birthday. We called each other every day. Lara seemed to love me as much as I loved her. I stopped with the other women, told them I was off the market. For good."

Lindsay was starting to get an ominous feeling about Lara Williams. Either she was the wonderful young woman so many people swore she had grown into, and she had been exploited by others, or she was the manipulative, opportunistic teenager they were starting to get a better picture of. The route Lukas' story took didn't help that.

It transpired that Lara had slept with him on her eighteenth birthday, and had gratefully received his gift – a ten thousand dollar engagement ring. They had spent a week together before work commitments forced them apart. Lukas had spent some time in LA, before heading back early to surprise Lara with a gift of some signed film stills. He had been shocked to see her at the door of her apartment building, kissing her agent.

"I was – devastated." He said, rubbing bloodshot eyes with his hands. "She called me the next day to see how LA was. Of course, I let rip. Yelled so loud I thought the phone would explode."

"What did she say?" Lindsay asked.

"She said-" he paused, fighting back a flood of tears –"she said that she was sorry, but she loved him. She loved us both. Lara gave me back the ring, and said she would call me when she made a decision."

"Did she?"

"Oh yeah." Lukas said bitterly. "She chose him. Apparently, he was just more – sophisticated."

* * *

Despite his obvious anger, Lukas DiBeneditto was not a good suspect. For one thing, his devastation at Lara's death would have been hard to fake. For another, he had an excellent alibi for the time she died. He had been at a fundraiser in Chicago, with a group of other models, all of whom could vouch for him. Lindsay felt for the guy. He could have his pick of women, but the only one he wanted had cruelly rejected him. It was, she supposed, part of the danger of falling in love with someone so young and naïve.

The team was looking even more demoralized than it had before she and Flack had spoken to DiBeneditto. Even the application of vast chocolate chip cookies, baked specially by Louise Richmond (who Lindsay was willing to sponsor for sainthood when she bit into one), had not improved the general mood much. Mac was still holed up in his office, tackling the mother of all paperwork piles. Last seen heading that way, Stella was also MIA. It was, she decided, a good thing they were off the clock.

"I'm going home." Hawkes declared grumpily.

The others watched him go. It was a rare thing to see Sheldon Hawkes in a bad mood. Generally, it was a sign that everyone else was sure to be really temperamental. Sure enough, Stella chose that moment to reappear in a flurry of action. She poured herself some coffee and sat down at the table with a thump, muttering about stubborn men who wouldn't listen.

"Mac's still in his office, then?" Adam said, carefully.

Apparently not carefully enough. The look he got from Stella would have reduced career criminals to a quivering mass of nerves. To his credit, Adam just smiled weakly and went back to staring at the table.

"He's nearly done. Well," she corrected herself, "as done as he's going to get tonight."

"Need a hand talking him out of there?" Danny offered.

She shook her head. "Already got that covered."

Lindsay decided that she didn't want to know – and that she never, ever wanted to get on the wrong side of Stella Bonasera.

"Did-"

"The pictures came from the lab. Mac's going to talk to everyone about it tomorrow."

With a sinking heart, Lindsay realized that someone she worked with had betrayed a young girl's memory. Someone she saw every day thought that a few hundred dollars was a good price for parading grotesque photographs of a girl's death. She shook her head, furious at the idea. By the reactions round the table, everyone else was just as angry.

"He's pretty mad, huh?"

This time, Stella favoured Adam with a weary smile. "That's an understatement. If we weren't still searching for our killer, I think I'd be tempted to call in sick."


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer – not mine.

A/N – This chapter is not particularly well written in my humble opinion, but it is a bit of a transition piece. Sorry! Also have realised that I was spelling it 'Lindsey' instead of 'Lindsay' before. Apparently the latter is right, but hey. Anyways, it's been changed now.

* * *

Sighing heavily, Stella settled herself on the sofa. The meeting had been tense. Mac's fury had been echoed around the room. Nobody wanted to believe that somebody from their shift had betrayed them like that. It made her sick to think about it. To their credit, everybody had turned up early, making sure that they were in the big meeting room before Mac showed. He strode in with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. The tension showed in his stance. Stella wondered if these were things she only noticed because she knew him so well.

They had dutifully sat there whilst Mac explained his conversation with the Chief, and declared that the guilty party's amnesty – meaning that they would only be fired – had three hours left. After that, whoever it was would face charges. Stella wasn't sure what they would be, exactly, but she was sure that Mac could think of something. Even if he couldn't, the Chief certainly could.

Once he had finished yelling at them, the group had been released. They all exited quickly, looking pale. Stella had decided to take a walk, buy a paper. Anything to get away from the lab for a few minutes. She had come in hours before her shift to get started on some tests, but struggled now to remember why she had thought it was a good idea to get up so early. She had spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, thinking about Lara Williams, and her complicated love life. Factoring in the so-called "boyfriend" who had still not come in for questioning, she had apparently been involved with three different men. Her agent, the mystery man, and the country's most successful male model. This was not a girl who settled for second best.

It was at times like this that Stella wondered if she had done something wrong in a past life. Stepping off the elevator, she had walked straight into a huge fight. Only her quick reflexes had saved her from a badly aimed punch to the head.

_She crouched down, covering her head with her arms. The pair had crashed into the elevator doors, and were staggering away again. Stella stood up. She brushed down her clothes with shaking hands. It was useless to pretend the experience hadn't shaken her up. The CSI jumped as a gentle hand landed on her shoulder. _

"_Sorry! Didn't mean to startle you."_

_Sid Hammerback, her mind supplied. She slugged him gently on the arm, and allowed the medical examiner to guide her to a seat. Two security guards came rushing round the corner followed by a furious Mac Taylor. The guards took care of the fighting duo. Mac, for his part, stood there and intimidated them. In the mood the lead CSI was in, it didn't take much. They sobered under his angry gaze._

"_What the hell do you two think you're doing?"_

_Belatedly, Stella realized they were members of the lab. She winced. Rather them than her. With all that had been going on lately, this fight was tantamount to professional suicide._

"_He started it!"_

_No, she corrected herself. That was tantamount to professional suicide._

"_I don't care! Both of you, my office now!"_

_Technically, they were on the other shift, but all the CSIs for that shift were evidently busy. In any case, whatever Mac decided would be backed up. He was angry, but he wasn't unreasonable. At least, she hoped not._

_Sid had kindly lead her to the break room and insisted that she sit down with a cup of hot chocolate. At her obvious surprise, he tapped the side of his nose, and disappeared. Moments later, the medical examiner reappeared, looking furtively over his shoulder. He produced a small purple packet with a flourish. _

"_In case of emergencies. Tell no one!"_

It was the real stuff too, made with hot milk rather than water, and just the right side of sugary sweet. Stella vowed to make Sid tell her where he got it from. She would have to add it to her stockpile of pick-me-ups. _Hot chocolate – cream – chocolate powder – a few marshmallows… _Stella grinned to herself. The sound of footsteps approaching shook her out of the reverie. She gulped down the last few mouthfuls and sprung across the room to rinse the cup at the sink. It was done just as the door swung open. Lindsay and Danny walked in, followed by Flack. They looked as miserable as she felt, beneath the layer of hot chocolate.

"Hi guys!" she said brightly.

Danny glared at her, mystified by her good mood. "What's with you?"

"I'm feeling positive. Aren't you?"

"Whatever she's on," he grumbled, jerking a thumb in Stella's direction, "I want some."


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer – not mine.

A/N – Still not much happening in this one, but I'm getting to it.

Stella's good mood had persisted, despite attempts by Fate to derail it, long into the afternoon. She was diverted from the Williams case by a homicide. For all her efforts, Stella knew she hadn't really been necessary. Just minutes after she turned up at the fifth-floor apartment, the dead man's wife began sobbing uncontrollably. It transpired that he had been sleeping with his secretary. She had found out, and in the argument about it, had thrown a heavy statue at her husband. It had struck a nasty blow on his head – he'd never regained consciousness. Stella felt for the woman. She would blame herself forever, for something that had been entirely accidental.

Still, Stella had found herself feeling quite bright as she strolled back into the lab. She had called Mac about the confession. Unsurprisingly, he had insisted that she finish processing the scene. It hadn't taken long. After logging the evidence, she had taken a short walk to a nearby deli, where the owner had flirted shamelessly with her. Despite Stella's reservations over the last couple of years about men in general, it was nice to play along with his risqué jokes. She whistled cheerfully to herself, swinging the bag in her hand. As she stopped at the door to Mac's office, Flack came round the corner. He looked grouchy.

"Hey, Don."

He looked up, and raised an eyebrow. "That you, whistling , before?"

"Yeah."

He grunted, and held the door open for her. With a flourish, Stella walked into the office. She ignored the less flamboyant entrance Flack made behind her, and strode right up to Mac's desk. The bag landed in front of him with a soft _thump_.It took a moment, but her boss – and friend – looked up in exasperation.

"Yes?"

"Dinner. Don't argue, I know you'll forget if I don't remind you, and we're both hungry as well." Stella said firmly.

Flack appeared at her side. "You got me something?" He sounded surprised, and more than a little hopeful. No doubt he too had been working through lunch recently.

Stella upended the bag. Four subs fell out, followed by three bags of chips, a small collection of oranges, and four bottles of spring water. "Eat up."

Mac rolled his eyes, admitting defeat. He picked the first sub he saw, and grinned at the label – chicken salad. The others were already biting into theirs, comfortably settled into his spare chairs, 

by the time Mac unwrapped it. He bit into the sub, and savored the taste. It was good – he was pretty sure he knew which deli Stella had gone to. The next few bites were gone quickly; after that, Mac felt more human. Able to hold a conversation, anyway. He set the sub down, and looked up at two identical amused expressions.

"Hungry, were you?" Flack said.

He grinned. Stella's good mood seemed to be contagious. "A little, perhaps." Mac looked again at the collection of food littering his desk. "Four subs?"

Stella held up a hand. She counted down silently, dropping a finger each time. Just as she finished, Sheldon walked through the open door. He stopped by her chair, shooting a hopeful glance at the remaining sub. Mac threw it to him. The former medical examiner caught it deftly, and settled himself into the remaining seat.

"So," he said, through a mouthful of prawn salad, "any updates on – uh – you know…" his voice trailed off, seeming to realize that his choice of subject might derail the good mood.

"No. Amnesty is over, so I don't think anyone is coming forward. The newspaper won't tell us who got them the pictures." Mac said.

"What about security footage?"

"You know that half hour overhaul?" Stella said.

"You're kidding? Half an hour where it wasn't running and that's when they stole the pictures?"

"Or copied them." She suggested. "Either way, they must read the internal memos."

Sheldon sighed. "So we might never find out who it was."

That sobering thought disturbed them all, but with the subs quickly eaten, they were distracted by the rest of Stella's haul. She let the guys eat the chips, and quietly removed a small item from her inside jacket pocket.

"Hey!" Sheldon exclaimed, indignant. "She has chocolate!"

_Lindsey chuckled to herself as she walked past the office. The temptation to stop for a moment and listen was too great. She leant against a wall round the corner. With the door open, sound travelled easily. She spotted Louise Richmond walking along the corridor, and urged her to come over._

"How come you get chocolate?" Flack whined.

Stella's voice was authoritative, but amused. "Because I went and got the food."

"Yeah, but…"

"You can't have any."

"But-"

"No!"

_The two women looked at each other and giggled. They would have to remember this. Don Flack, supposedly suave detective, begging for chocolate._

"What about me?"

_Lindsey recognized Hawkes' voice immediately. It held a plaintive note she didn't associate with him. Apparently he too was not above whining to get what he wanted. She bit her lip to hold back from laughing. It wouldn't do, to be found eavesdropping. She was sure Danny could provide Hawkes and Flack with ample opportunity for revenge, and said as much to Louise. _

_The older woman raised an eyebrow. "You think he's that dumb?"_

_She had to admit, Louise had a point. Danny generally showed a remarkable sense of self-preservation where she was concerned. Lindsey shrugged, and leaned a little further along the corridor, to try and catch the rest of the conversation drifting out from the office._

"—not fair!" Flack grumbled. "Why does he get to have some?"

Mac's dry tone stepped in. "Because I asked nicely."

"Still not fair."

_Lindsey and Louise glanced at each other again, and shook their heads. They walked off in opposite direction, both wondering how that group had ever gotten out of high school. Even their boss seemed to be joining in. Louise, for her part, grinned wickedly as she walked into her own office. That little sojourn had given her ideas…_

Stella collected the rubbish and put in all back in the bag. She threw it straight into the bin, with a flourish . Turning back, she found all three men staring at her.

"What?"

"Nothing." Flack said, holding up his hands. "You're just – very –"

"Bouncy." Sheldon offered.

"Enthusiastic."

Mac paused before offering his own description. "Completely insane." He ducked the candy bar wrapper Stella aimed at his head, chuckling. "Get back to work, all of you. Stella, you're still on that homicide, right?"

She nodded. "Mac, it's the wife. She's confessed to throwing a statue at him. Neighbours heard the argument, followed by a loud thump, and then screaming. And she called the police."

"Right. Flack, have we got the boyfriend yet?"

The detective pulled out his notebook, and flicked through it quickly. "Due in about a half hour. Samuel Travis. Apparently, he's a trainee accountant for a small firm based in Queens." Flack said. He snapped the book shut. "Definitely Mr. Average."

* * *

Mr. Average, as Flack had labeled him, was exactly that. The detective had met Travis at the front desk, and walked him up to an interview room. Mac waited for them there. He had not expected such an ordinary looking young man. For one thing, he was just nineteen – not much older than Lara herself – unlike DiBeneditto, and the much older Willoughby. For another, Mac knew he was not a particularly attractive young man. Finally, unlike either of Lara's other two lovers, Travis was clearly short of cash.

From his bargain-basement suit to his old-fashioned shoes, Travis was dressed cheaply, though everything was well looked after. He sat in front of the CSI, fiddling with a chunky silver bracelet. Mac focused on it for a second. It seemed to be an identity bracelet. Definitely beyond the financial reach of this young man.

"Lara bought it for me." He said quietly, catching the direction of Mac's gaze. "About – six months ago. We' d been together a year." He held up a hand. "I know what you're thinking. And I know about Lara's – other men. Lukas, and her agent. There were probably others. I just – couldn't face it. We spoke about it once, and I said that I wanted to marry her, one day."

"What did Lara say?" Flack asked.

"She said that-" the young man swallowed deeply against the lump in his throat. "She said she'd love to marry me, and once she did, there would never be anyone else. And that she was sorry about the other men. Sorry, but that she had to experiment while she was still young." He looked away. Fresh tears were forming in his already red, irritated eyes. Mac locked away a part of himself that knew exactly how it felt to lose someone so suddenly. "She said she couldn't blame me if I walked away. But I couldn't. You know?"

Mac found himself nodding. "You loved her." He ignored the split-second glance Flack shot his way.

"Yes. I really did. And I was ready to propose. I've always been wrapped up in numbers – I went to college young – but Lara was always first on my mind." Travis produced a small box from his pocket. He opened it, to reveal an old-fashioned silver ring, with a thin band of alternating diamonds and sapphires. It looked exceptionally expensive. "It's been in the family for a hundred years. A rich ancestor, I guess. It was going to be hers."


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer – not mine.

A/N – This was kind of depressing as I wrote it, but then it's kind of meant to be! Thanks for reviews again, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Once again, please let me know if there's anything I am missing. If you desperately want to see more of a particular character, I _might_ be able to oblige.

* * *

Mac was loathe to admit how much the interview with Samuel Travis had taken out of him. He stood on the roof of the building, appreciating the peace and quiet. Here, he didn't have to think about how others might see him. It was windy, and a little cold, but there were no questions, no pressure. His mood veered alternately between the depression that had visited him after Claire's death and a sad yearning to speak to Peyton. It was natural, he supposed, but that didn't make it any less confusing. Mac gripped his wedding ring tightly in his hand. He longer wore it, but occasionally, when times seemed hardest, he liked to hold it and think of her.

The city was as busy as ever beneath him. Mac wondered how many of them were affected by Lara Williams' death. He wondered how the three men who loved her felt now, knowing that she had promised each of them everything. It was a situation he couldn't begin to understand, though he knew grief very well.

"You're hiding."

He smiled sadly, and turned to face his friend. Don Flack strode across the rooftop, his suit jacket fluttering in the wind. He joined Mac in watching over the city.

"Not hiding." He said, finally. "Just taking a break."

"Mac-"

"It's fine."

Flack sighed. He knew when he was beaten – but he had other questions to ask. "What's up with you and Peyton?"

He knew he'd hit the mark when Mac's expression darkened. His stormy eyes scanned the horizon as he told Flack a story. They had been arguing lately, but had resolved their issues more than a fortnight ago. Or so Mac had believed. The night they had all convened at Stella's apartment, he had received a call from Peyton, saying that she was planning to move back to England. Mac stopped there, and refused to look his friend in the eye.

"That's – that sucks, Mac."

"Thanks Don."

Flack shrugged. "Anytime." He clapped a hand on the CSI's shoulder. "Come on. Let's go speak to Pete Junior. Apparently he finally persuaded his mother he was fine to talk to us."

* * *

Pete Jr. was a very big guy. Standing at well over six feet tall, and of a very muscular build, he towered over everyone. He was dressed in casual clothes. Something told Flack that had a lot more to do with Betty Williams than it did with Pete Jr. himself. He sat down opposite the young man and waited for Danny to do the same. Mac had decided to sit it out, safe in the knowledge that the younger CSI was good at his job.

"Do you have any idea who it is yet? Who killed my sister?" Pete asked desperately.

"I'm sorry Mr Williams-"

"Pete."

"-we're still investigating." Flack said.

"You know she –" he stopped, biting his lip. "-she had a few boyfriends. Three that she told me about. She told me everything."

The detective waited, sensing that Pete probably knew an awful lot more about the life his sister was living than his parents did. If they were lucky, he knew something that could be useful in the investigation.

"Lara slept around." He said. "I didn't always want to know what she told me, but – God, I was glad that she was telling somebody. Figured I could pass the message on if she got herself into real trouble." His eyes filled up.

He told them about his baby sister's letters. Filled with news of the people she'd met, and the shows she was doing, they were always lively, sometimes to the point of being disturbing. Pete had never broken his promise to her – had always kept her secrets to himself – but he'd wanted to tell their parents about the drinking. The boyfriends. The drugs he suspected she had tried once or twice. The late night parties she went to. They were blissfully unaware of so much; he hadn't wanted to shatter their illusions.

"Lara was trouble. I know that." Pete said miserably. "God – when the guys found out she was my sister, they wouldn't shut up."

"The guys in your unit?"

The young soldier nodded, and started to talk again. Several times, guys he hardly knew came up to him and started talking about his sister. Mostly they were innocent enough, just asking if it was true, and seeing if he could get them an autograph. One or two wanted tickets to shows for their wives or girlfriends. The others, Pete had straightened out pretty fast.

"You beat them up?" Flack asked.

Pete looked nervously at the detective. He caught the gentle expression in the older man's eyes and nodded. "They didn't say anything. The guys knew what they'd said, and after I – hit them, it was settled. Done with."

"You sure they knew that?" Danny's tone was sharper, but not unkind.

"Yeah." Pete said. "There's – you have to know the rules, and they broke them."

Flack started to wrap things up, seeing that they were getting little useful information from the young man, when Pete produced a thick stack of letters. He pushed them across the table.

"Everything she sent me, over the last four years. From before she moved to New York." Pete rose to his feet. "I hope it helps."

He walked out, leaving Flack and Danny feeling a deep sense of melancholy as they looked at four years of Lara Williams' life. Danny was first to reach for the letters, pulling open the faded red ribbon that, unknown to either of them, she had used to decorate her brother's last birthday gift. He picked up a thick white envelope, and pulled out the letter. Decorated with doodles, colours and fancy writing, and smelling strongly of lavender, it seemed to be an embodiment of a child's character, before she had grown up too soon.


End file.
